preMature
by The Anonymite
Summary: They all skipped childhood, you know? Unprecedented responsibility forced them upwards into that horrifying, unfeeling world of adulthood. But they weren't adults. They were children mentally, despite all of their intellect. Despite all of it.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Death Note.

* * *

People said he was empty, said he was hollow and empty and blank.

What did they know? They didn't know anything.

What Near was… what he was was the product of ultimate failure; ultimate failure and unconquerable sadness. It was obvious in the way he sat so hunched over, the way he played so forlornly with his multitude of toys. He didn't want to be L. He didn't want to be a detective or a smart person or anything.

All he wanted were parents; a mother and a father. A Mom and a Dad.

He wanted to be a kid.

* * *

People said he was loud, said he was loud and irritating and rude.

What did they know? They didn't know anything.

What Mello was… what he was was the product of layers upon layers of unadulterated fury. Only he adulterated his fury with chocolate and hatred. And music. Lots and lots of music. It was obvious, so painfully obvious in the way he yelled at Near, the faces he pulled and the ferocity with which he snapped that chocolate apart bit by bit, as though he were wishing he was ripping apart a live human instead of a brown hunk of sugar-laden cacao. In fact, he was wishing, subconsciously of course, that he was ripping apart his mother. He wanted to rend her limb from limb, bit by bit, wanted to watch her die. She had left him, so he wanted her to die. Because she had left him. He didn't want to be L. He didn't want to be a detective or a smart person or anything.

All he wanted were parents; a mother and a father. A Mom and a Dad.

He wanted to be loved.

* * *

Neither of them wanted what they had, and the other children in the orphanage hated them for that, hated them for their complacence. Neither of them ever spoke about it, though, so the other children in the orphanage usually slipped into general states of awe when around them.

Neither of them wanted to be L, but they had to be, because being Number One was all they had anymore, all they had to cling to for sanity. What neither realized, even with their massive and slightly unnatural amounts of intellect, was that this battle for the top was driving them insane faster than if they would just let go and allow it all to pass them by.

* * *

Mello envied Matt for his apathy. He wished he could be apathetic.

* * *

People said he was tranquil, said he was tranquil and soothing and… antisocial.

What did they know? They didn't know anything.

What Matt was… what he was was the product of suppressed emotion. Every shred of anything that he had felt since that day… that horrible, fateful day had been shoved down deep into a little dark corner and subsequently ignored. He had no story, had no passion or drive, had nothing. It was obvious in the blank way his blank eyes stayed fixed on the flickering screen of his handheld gaming system. That gaming system was the most radiant thing about him, though he would add another bit of radiance when he moved out of the orphanage and picked up his first cigarette. He always sighed. He didn't want to be L. He didn't want to be a detective or a smart person or anything.

All he wanted were parents; a mother and a father. A Mom and a Dad.

He wanted to be open.

* * *

Matt envied Mello and Near for their drive. He wished he could be driven.

* * *

Roger knew. Roger knew and Quillish knew and Lawliet knew, but still they persisted. Still they persisted, using their own sick senses of justice to convince themselves that the world would only benefit from the slow but sure ruining of youth. Still they persisted in poisoning those children's early days, creating unstable adults much sooner than should be possible. Mello and Near and Matt were adults already, except that they weren't _adults_. They weren't mature. They hated to lose, they allowed themselves to be controlled by life instead of controlling it themselves. But, then again, Lawliet hated to lose and he was immature. So was Kira, according to Lawliet. Light would never accept that, though; that he was immature and hated to lose. Because that would be a weakness on his part, a large, glaring weakness, and Kira wasn't supposed to have weaknesses.

He did, though. Have weaknesses. He was like Mello and Near and Matt. He was like all of those children in Wammy House. He was like Lawliet; driven to adulthood many years too soon, weighed down with unprecedented responsibility in the form of a seemingly innocuous little book.

If Mello and Near and Matt had met Light with all the knowledge and all the facts… if they knew everything, knew that he was Kira, that all of this was _his fault_, there would be no question that they would rip him limb from limb, bit by bit, and it would be so satisfying, for Mello, anyway. It would be so satisfying, because he had single-handedly (and inadvertently) ruined their lives. What they wouldn't admit was that their lives had already been ruined by their parents and Quillish Wammy and Roger and their own intelligence.

This is what happens to smart little boys, what happens to little boys with obscene senses of justice or drive or hatred or anger. This is what happens: They turn into sociopaths, into psychopaths, into neurotic misanthropes, into hollow shells of what a little boy should be.

This is what happens: they turn into Nate Rivers and Mihael Keehl and Mail Jeevas. They turn into Lawliet and Light.

* * *

All they wanted were parents; a mother and a father. A Mom and a Dad.

They wanted to _be_.


End file.
